


Damned Cravats!

by 221A_brina



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Humor, Realization, Revelations, Ties & Cravats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-24 15:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8377306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221A_brina/pseuds/221A_brina
Summary: During his alcohol infused rant in "Death Defying Feats" Jack went on about the men who wore "Damned cravats!" He finally discovers the culprit(s), much to his chagrin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place after the resolution of S3E1 "Death Defying Feats" and before the events of S3E2 "Death and the Maiden"

The copious amounts of alcohol hadn't helped to calm his feelings of agitation and irritation, his body buzzing in kind. Jack Robinson's muddled thoughts had been all over the map, traveling up and down every conceivable pathway and route. The last trail marker blatantly lay before him. Flaunting him. Daring him to action. This particular trail marker materialized (he internally rolled his eyes and groaned at the pun) in the form of a cravat. Another damned cravat!

His mind traveled back to past recollections when he had noticed a cravat draped or placed haphazardly in various locations all over Miss Fisher's home. 1. Olive with white circles – which had be laying on the piano. 2. Grey with a burgundy circle and square pattern – which was on the sideboard in the parlour. 3. Brown with cream circles forming squares – was on the chair just inside Miss Fisher's boudoir door. There were several more, but he was too exasperated and irked to relive or review those instances.

He hadn't intended it, but by the time Miss Fisher had arrived to the parlour on that ill-fated evening, he had gotten so worked up that his agitation had broken through his normal calm reserve and exploded outwards.

The next morning the case of the most recent cravat was resolved, but it hadn't explained the previous neck wear items that had shown up well before the Baron's untimely appearance at Wardlow.

All of this brought him back to the present where he was, once again, awaiting the arrival of Miss Fisher to her parlour.

Moments after he'd been ushered in, there was a knock on the front door, and as usual, Mr. Butler appeared out of thin air to answer it.

"Ah... Dr. McMillan." He greeted the red-haired physician.

"Evening, Mr. B.," she greeted him stepping into the front entryway. "Phryne tells me you have something for me?"

"Yes, Doctor. If you'll excuse me a moment," he said, smiling.

"Of course." Mac nodded as he disappeared through the dining room

Standing in the doorway, Mac peered into the parlour and saw Jack Robinson leaning against the fireplace mantle, tumbler in hand.

"Ah... Inspector. What brings you to this fine establishment at this hour?" Mac sauntered over to the sideboard, poured herself a whiskey from the cut crystal decanter and approached the fireplace.

"Dr. McMillan, " he nodded in acknowledgement, raising his glass. Before he could answer her question, Phryne wafted into the room and greeted them both.

"Jack! Mac! How lovely to see you both." It was her turn to approach the sideboard for the fine amber liquid. As she turned to face them, Mr. Butler silently reappeared with a package wrapped in brown paper and string.

"Your cravats, Dr. McMillan. All laundered and pressed." He handed her the package.

"Thank you Mr. Butler. I do hope I didn’t inconvenience you with all that extra work. It seems I tend to lose track of those damned things when I'm over here. Can't imagine how _that_ could happen," she shot a sardonic look towards Phryne as she set the small package on the mantle.

Phryne returned her gaze feigning innocence and shrugged. She sipped her whiskey as she insinuated herself onto the chaise longue.

"No trouble at all," Mr. Butler asserted. "Happy to be of assistance, Doctor," he said, once more disappearing from view.

At the mention of the word 'cravat,' Jack startled and froze in place. His golden lashes dipped momentarily, a wash of realization flushed through him. One hand raised to stroke a deft forefinger across his eyebrow, the remaining digits ghosting his brow, resting there for an instant before dropping to his side. His eyes reopened, _finally_ seeing.

"Damned cravats." The words escaped his pursed lips in a hissed whisper as a wave of understanding and embarrassment flooded his body.

A look of dawning comprehension worked its way onto Mac's face. Her eyes lit up with wicked glee. She hid her widening grin behind the lip of her tumbler as she knocked back the last of her drink.

"What was that, Jack?" Phryne queried, her voice ascending in pitch.

"N... nothing, Miss Fisher. Nothing at all," he stammered, smiled and sipped his whiskey trying to cover his faux pas.

"I hate to drink and run..." Mac shrugged unapologetically, "Well maybe just this once," she punctuated with a slight chuckle.

"Leaving so soon, Mac?" Phryne's eyes grew large as her mouth arranged itself into a playful pout.

"I really must." Mac exchanged her glass for the package on the mantle and moved to depart, swiping the corners of her lips with thumb and forefinger. "I'm sure there's another bowel resection or splinter removal that needs my immediate and undivided attention." Mac grabbed her hat off the hook in the entryway and set it on her head at a jaunty angle.

Phryne and Jack stood open mouthed watching her retreating form.

The door snicked shut behind her. As Dr. Elizabeth McMillan walked through the front gate of Wardlow, she thought, _When will those idiots ever learn?_


End file.
